Chapter NINE
VITTORIO opened the front door to the front steps and sunshine flooded the stone entry. The air felt fresh, the sky was blue with just a few wispy clouds, and a cream two-seater convertible sports car gleamed in the circular driveway.
“That’s a beautiful car,” she said, descending the steps to examine the car’s flowing lines from the curving panoramic windshield to the sleek rear end. “Has to be a 1950s design,” she added.
“Good eye. 1955,” he said, smiling at her. “A Lancia Aurelia.”
“Don’t they call these B24 Spiders?”
Vittorio laughed softly as he opened the passenger door for her. “They do. How did you know?”
She glanced admiringly into the interior with its dark red leather seats and dash. “My dad loved cars. He was always buying new cars and living in Detroit—” She broke off, horrified by what she’d just revealed and then panicked, she babbled on as she slid into the passenger seat. “Dad still watches car auctions on TV.”
Vittorio closed the door behind her and moved to the driver’s seat. “You never mentioned your father’s interest at Bellagio.”
She glanced up at the chiseled features of his face to see if he’d caught her slip, but Vittorio looked relaxed, his expression almost happy. “I didn’t realize you liked old cars, too,” she said, thinking that her mention of Detroit hadn’t registered, “because all of your cars at the lake villa were new.”
“And what do you prefer?” he asked, closing his door.
“I do love classic cars best.”
“Sounds like you are your father’s daughter,” he said, starting the car.
Jillian grew hot, her skin prickly. She’d definitely been her father’s daughter the first twelve years of her life. She’d loved his energy and charm and ready laugh. “Growing up I was very close to him,” she said quietly. “I was proud of being a Daddy’s girl.”
“What changed?” Vittorio asked, shifting gears and heading down the driveway to the castle’s impressive gates.
She was silent a long moment as Vittorio pulled away from the Normandy castle with its turret and tower to head down the drive toward town.
The sun shone brightly and Jillian lifted a hand to shield her eyes. “His job,” she said at length. “He had problems at work.”
“What sort of problems?” Vitt asked, sliding on a pair of sunglasses.
“Financial.”
Vitt shot her a glance. “Did he embezzle money?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. We never talked about it at home. My father wasn’t open and my mother didn’t ask questions. They had a very traditional marriage. Dad was the head of the family and made all the decisions. It was Mom’s job to agree with him.”
Vitt shot her a brief glance. “You’re nothing like your mother.”
She laughed despite herself. “No, I’m not. Maybe that’s why we’re not close.” But then her smile disappeared as she thought of her sister, a beautiful brunette who’d taken after their mother. Mom and Katie had been close, practically been best friends. “My sister and Mom talked every single day though, sometimes three or four times a day. Even when Katie was at college she called Mom to get her advice, ask her opinion. I used to tell Katie to grow up, become independent but she said Mom needed her, and now, looking back, I realize Katie was probably right. Mom hasn’t had much of a life.”
“When is the last time you saw them then? Your sister’s funeral?”
Jillian dug her nails into her hands and looked away. “I wasn’t able to make the funeral.”
“What?”
She felt Vitt’s stare and she lifted her shoulders. “I was in Switzerland working. There was no graveside service. Mom and Dad just took Katie’s ashes home.”
“That’s just strange.”
“As I said, we’re not close.” She turned to look at him, eyes huge in her pale face. “I haven’t seen them since I graduated from college, and that was five years ago.”
“Don’t you want to see them?”
“Yes.” Her voice broke. She swallowed hard. “But there are reasons we don’t get together, and I have to respect those reasons.” Jillian grabbed her long hair in her hand to keep it from blowing in her face. “I’m not saying it’s easy, because it’s not. I wanted to go home and see them after Katie’s death. I wanted to be with the people who loved Katie as much as I did, but I couldn’t go, and I grieved on my own, and it was horrible.” She blinked back tears. “But then I changed jobs and moved from Zurich to Istanbul and that helped. Helped distract me from always thinking about losing Katie.”
Vittorio glanced at her again, his sunglasses hiding his eyes and yet from the set of his mouth she knew he was thinking over every word she’d said.
She’d said a lot, too.
“Can we talk about something else?” she said huskily. “Talking about my family just makes me miss Katie even more.”
They drove along the lower slopes of Mount Etna, passing through acres of black lava only to arrive at terraced fields of vineyards and almond and hazelnut groves.
They stopped at Roman ruins an hour and a half outside Paterno and Vittorio held her hand as they walked down stone stairs cut from the hillside to the bottom of what once must have been a very grand amphitheater. In places the rows of stone seats climbed perfectly up the grassy hillside. In other areas the stones had been broken and toppled and lay in pieces on the ground.
“Can you imagine attending a play or a concert here?” Jillian asked, doing a slow circle to fully savor the amphitheater’s grandeur.
“Now and then concerts are still performed here. It doesn’t happen often anymore—the last time was ten years ago—but it’s a magical thing to have the theatre come alive, with all the performers lit by moonlight and candlelight.”
Jillian sat down on a stone bench that was still largely intact. “We’re in a field with a secret Roman amphitheater that’s just an hour from your home. I’m jealous!”
“It is beautiful. And the amazing thing is, we have ruins like this all over Sicily. Every couple of miles you’ll find the tumbled stones of a Doric temple, Byzantine church, Norman castle, Greek and Roman amphitheaters. But the ruins aren’t merely in the countryside. Our cities are filled with ancient gates and bridges, tombs and altars. We have two thousand years of history on this island, and it’s all created the strong, modern Sicilian character.”
“You’re proud to be Sicilian,” she said, looking up at him.
Vittorio nodded. “Very proud. Sicilians haven’t just been shaped by thousands of years of different cultures and rulers, but also by the land and weather. Here in Sicily we have six months of perfect warm weather followed by months of torrential rains. The interior of the island is dry, rocky and arid, while our exterior is one of endless coastlines with picturesque beach towns and breathtaking views. We’re surrounded by water and yet at the center is our Mount Etna, Europe’s largest, most active volcano.”
“A place of extremes,” she said.
“Exactly so,” he agreed, extending a hand to her. “Shall we go so I can show you more?”
They stopped in Bronte, enjoying a simple meal in the restaurant’s charming, shady courtyard before Vittorio ducked into a boutique and emerged with a silk scarf and pair of sunglasses. “For your hair,” he said, tying the scarf under her chin. “And your eyes,” he added, slipping the sunglasses onto her nose.
Touched by his thoughtful gesture, she rose on tiptoe and kissed him. “Thank you.”
He gazed down at her for a long moment, a small muscle pulling in his jaw. “My pleasure.”
And then they were climbing into the Lancia sports car and heading to Paterno. Riding home in the sleek two-seater convertible, Jillian felt very chic in her sunglasses and scarf. “This was a really nice afternoon,” she commented as he slowed to allow a shepherd and his flock of sheep to cross the road.
“It still is,” he agreed, dark eyes holding hers, before focusing again on the road. As he drove they sat in silence, mellowed by their meal, the warmth of the sun and the scenic drive.
It wasn’t until they were on the outskirts of Paterno that Vittorio spoke again. “I want to call your parents when we return and personally invite them to the wedding. I will let them know that I can handle all arrangements, and have a plane at their disposal—”
“Vitt, not this again!”
“Jill, you are their only daughter.”
“Maybe, but they won’t come. They just won’t.”
He shot her a swift glance. “How do you know if you haven’t asked them?”
“Because I know them!”
“But I don’t, and if we’re to be a family, I want to know them, and I’d think they’d want to get to know me.”
“They don’t. It sounds dreadful put like that, but it’s the truth. They don’t want to know anyone anymore, not after Katie’s boyfriend—” She broke off, bit down hard into her lip, astonished that she would once again say so much.
He shot her a swift glance. “What did Katie’s boyfriend do?”
Jillian closed her eyes, hating herself.
“Jill?” he demanded.
She looked at him, expression stricken. “Marco hurt her.”
“He was the one that killed her?”
“Yes.” She ducked her head, studied her laced fingers, remembered how when she and Katie were young they’d hold hands when they crossed the street. Held hands when Katie got scared. Tears burned her eyes, but they were nothing compared to the emotion tearing up her heart. “So now my parents don’t go anywhere or meet anyone. They just live in their little house in Fort Lauderdale and soak up the sun and maybe play a round of golf.”
For a moment Vittorio said nothing and then he spoke quietly, flatly. “I am not Marco. I would never hurt you, or your family—”
“That may be, but we will not call them. I will not call them.”
“Then I will.” He glanced at her. “I have their number, Jill. Home and cellular.”
She turned her face away from him, jaw set. He didn’t know. He didn’t understand. “Don’t do it, Vitt. It’s not a good idea. You have to trust me on this one.”
“Like you trust me?” he retorted.
She stiffened, her spine rigid.
“Your parents are important,” he added. “They’re not just your parents, but they’re Joseph’s grandparents and they should be part of his life.”
“But I don’t want them in Joe’s life! He’s not safe with them in his life. Leave them in Florida. It’s where they belong.”
“How can you be so bitter?”
“Because you don’t know what my father put us through!”
“What did he put you through?”
“Hell.” Then she smiled bitterly to hide the hot lance of pain. It had been hell, too. Her childhood had been so happy that she hadn’t even been prepared for the terrible things that happened when she turned twelve. Couldn’t have imagined that she’d be ripped from that idyllic, sheltered childhood and thrust into a world of constant fear. To know that your father was a hated and hunted man…to live believing your family was in constant danger…to go to bed every night thinking it might be your last…
“Your teeth are chattering,” Vitt said.
They were, too, but that’s because she was freezing. “I’m cold.”
“It’s eighty-four degrees out.”
“So?”
“You’re not cold. You’re afraid.”
“Why would I be afraid?”
Vitt abruptly pulled over to the side of the road and shifted into Park. Unbuckling his seat belt he turned all the way in his seat, his body angled forward to face her. “You’re afraid because if I call your parents, it will reveal all your secrets and all your lies—”
“I have no secrets!”
His jaw flexed. His nostrils flared. He looked as if he was barely keeping his temper in check. “You have one hour to make that call, or I will.”
Vittorio shifted into Drive and steered the Lancia Aurelia back onto the highway.
Jillian sat with her hands clenched in her lap. For a moment she felt nothing. Not even panic. And then slowly her head filled with noise, a buzzing sound that became a roar.
He’d found something out. Something important. Otherwise why would he want to call her parents personally? Why would he be so determined to speak to them, introduce himself, meet them personally?
Instinct and self-preservation told her that this wasn’t a courtesy call. This phone call had nothing to do with playing the gracious bridegroom. He was cementing his power.
He was ensuring security.
He was going after the truth. And he was going after the truth because he didn’t trust her.
Smart man, she thought, swallowing around the lump in her throat.
Blinking back hot tears, she stared blindly out the car onto the fields dotted with stone walls as they drove the rest of the distance in agonizing silence.
Pulling up before the castle, Vittorio shifted into Park even as Jillian was throwing open the car door and jumping out. “You’re down to forty minutes, Jill. You have forty minutes to decide what you want to do. I’ll be in the library waiting for you.”
“I’ve nothing to tell you!”
“That’s a shame. Because you have so much to lose.”
Jillian turned and ran up the steps into the house, and didn’t stop running until she’d reached the nursery where Joe was sleeping.
Maria put a finger to her lips when Jillian burst into the room. The shades were down, darkening the room and Jillian nodded as she continued to the crib. She had to see Joe, had to see him as only then could she believe everything would be okay.
Jillian stared down at him, taking in his flushed cheeks and his rosy lips. He’d never looked more angelic. “Did he have a good day?” she whispered to Maria.
“Yes. He played and played and he ate a lot and we also went for walks.”
Jillian’s chest squeezed. She longed to reach out and touch him but she didn’t dare wake him. Instead she smiled at Maria and went to her room, where she changed from her navy striped top and slacks into a simple white linen dress. She ran a comb through her hair and then turned away from the mirror. Don’t be scared, she told herself, heading for the stairs.
Reaching the library on the second floor, Jillian wiped her now damp palms on the sides of her dress before opening the library door. “What do you want to know?” she asked.
“Everything,” he said as she stepped into the room.
She closed the door behind her before approaching his desk where he’d been typing something on his laptop computer. “But you know everything.”
“Do I, Jill?”
“Yes. I have no secrets. My dad’s a jerk. My mom’s weak. My sister’s dead. What else is there?”
“Then who, cara, is Anne? And Carol? And Lee?” He caught her expression and smiled grimly. “Yes, my wife of many identities. Who are you really?”
“How long have you known about the different identities?”
“Since yesterday. But I had suspicions before.”
She nodded. “Then you know everything…”
“I don’t know why, and I don’t know who you were before you went into the government’s witness protection program, but I have my suspicions.”
Jillian startled and he nodded. “I’d wager this castle that your father is linked to organized crime,” Vitt continued, “and I’d bet my Lancia that he’s a mob boss from Detroit, a man who confessed everything he knew to the FBI to save himself from going to prison.”
He smiled and gestured to the phone. “Now I just need you to confirm it for me.”
She swayed on her feet. “I can’t, Vitt.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
“Then I will, and once I call them, and let them know you’re here with me, I’m confident they’ll tell me what I need to know—”
“They won’t.”
“Not even if they think you’re in trouble?”
She laughed. “God, no! They didn’t when Marco kidnapped Katie, so why would they do it for me?”
“Is that how your sister died?”
She made a low tormented sound. “The tragic thing is that they didn’t even want Katie. They wanted my father. But my father wouldn’t dream of sacrificing himself for anyone else, much less his daughter.”
“And so she died.”
“In a car bomb. Can you believe that? She thought she was free to go. She thought she’d escaped the danger. Instead they blew her up as she started her car.” Jillian dragged her fist across her face, rubbing away tears before they fell. “The police called it an accident. But everyone on the inside knew it wasn’t an accident. And so the government stepped in and Mom and Dad were moved to yet another location. I didn’t change my name, but I did change jobs, going from Switzerland to Turkey.”
“And it was in Turkey you met me.”
She nodded. “I thought you were perfect for me, too. Until I discovered who you were. So I ran. Just as I’ve been running for my life ever since I was twelve.”
He rose from behind his desk and went to her, caught her hands in his and drew her toward him. “You don’t have to be afraid—not here, not anymore.”
“I wish I could believe that. I really do.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Because bad things happen when we let our guard down. Katie let her guard down—”
“You’re not Katie,” he interrupted, lifting her hand with her wedding ring to his mouth and kissing her ring finger and then her palm. “You will never be Katie, and I promise that nothing will happen to you if you trust me. I can protect you. And my family will protect you. Always.”
Her gaze clung to his. She wanted to believe him, she really did, because she needed to believe in someone, needed to believe the world could be a good place, and a safe place. Her world had often felt very dark and harsh and cold and yet whenever she was with Vitt, she felt warm.
She felt safe.
“Kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me and make all these bad feelings go away.”
“That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say all day,” he murmured, lifting her face to cover her mouth with his. He kissed her slowly, deeply, lips drawing from hers an immediate and almost feverish response.
She needed him.
She needed him desperately.
For the longest time she’d felt as if she was drowning but maybe he could save her. Maybe he was strong enough, smart enough…
Hope blazed to life. Hope and heat kindling into hot desire.
With his mouth on hers, Vittorio walked her backward across the library until she felt the dark paneled door against her hips.
He leaned past her, turned the lock on the door, and then moved closer, his tall, lithe, firm body pressing into her.
She loved the feel of his body against her and the warm hard ridge of his erection rubbing against her inner thighs. She wanted him and she groaned against his mouth.
“Careful, cara, or I will take you here,” he warned, teeth nipping at her soft, swollen lower lip.
“Good,” she answered, her body trembling with need.
“Don’t tempt me,” he said, his warm breath caressing her skin as his lips brushed the curve of her ear and then lower to the tender hollow below. “Because I’m dangerously close to losing control.”
She turned so that her lips brushed his. “Lose it.”
“Don’t say that. You don’t know how I feel. I’m angry, Jill, I’m angry and frustrated and I don’t want to hurt you—”
“I’m not afraid of a little pain.”
“Stop it,” he growled. “Don’t talk that way.”
“Then take me and make me forget everything but you and me and being here together right now.”
“I cannot fight you, and me.” He tugged the hem of her white linen dress toward her hips and put his hand between her legs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Jillian felt as though she’d burst into fire on the inside. Her body felt wild. Her nerves explosive. She arched against Vittorio, demanding more.
He stroked over her cream silk panty, stroking the soft feminine shape of her.
She gasped and tipped her head against the door, giving herself over to exquisite sensation as hot, silvery shots of electricity burst through her, tightening her nipples and melting her core.
He lifted the edge of the panty, moving beneath the thin satin band to slide his fingers beneath the fabric, to run his fingers against her, then between the folds to the softest, warmest part of her. His fingers felt slick against her, which meant she was wet. Very wet.
Her mouth dried as he rubbed her between two fingers and she rocked helplessly against his hand, responding with not just her body, but also her heart.
With him she was safe. With him she was home. There could never be any other place she belonged but with him.
“You’re mine,” he ground out, his voice husky in her ear. “And I’m going to fill you and make you mine, and you will always be mine.”
“Yes.” Because of course she was his. She’d always been his. It was inevitable from the very first meeting in the hotel lobby. Fate brought them together, and it was up to fate to keep them together.
She heard him unzip his trousers as he freed himself, and then with one hand he pressed the head of his hot, hard erection against the wet entrance to her body.
He teased her for a moment with the tip, rubbing it across her wetness, and then up and down over her softness until she panted with need. And once she moaned his name, he plunged inside of her, filling her all the way.
She sucked in air, and held it bottled in her lungs as her heart seemed to burst open inside of her.
She loved him.
She did.
He and Joe were everything. Life, breath, hope. She circled his neck with her arms, pressed her lips to his. “I need you forever,” she whispered.
“You have me forever,” he answered.
Tears burned her eyes. “Promise.”
“I promise.”
“No matter what?”
“No matter what.” He lifted her against the wall, hooking her leg over his arm to thrust into her even deeper, stretching her, filling her, making her one with him.
She gasped at the fullness of them together, overwhelmed by the warmth and the dizzying emotions and intense sensation. He thrust into her again and again, and with each thrust she knew he was making her his.
But then he’d known from the very beginning that she needed this hard, physical coupling to feel loved.
Making love with Vittorio always made her feel loved, but she needed it now more than ever when everything felt so unpredictable, when their connection felt so fragile.
She buried her fingers in his cool, crisp hair, pressed her face to his neck, her lips to his warm fragrant skin, aware of each long, measured stroke of him taking her, filling her. With each thrust he edged her closer and closer to that point of no return, pushing her past reason and control until she shattered in a thousand pieces. He climaxed as she came, and dipping his head he covered her mouth with his, swallowing her scream in a kiss.